Can't Protect Against Yourself
by tarpeach1981
Summary: There was a shift in their feelings as Clint and Natasha battled against Loki and his army, but they don't have a chance to explore where they stand when the world interferes again, and a new enemy threatens to destroy everything they value, including the friendship that defines them. T for precaution. Movie-verse and after.
1. Prologue

**Can't Protect Against Yourself**

**A/N: So. This is the beginning of my first attempt at a chapter story. The prologue is based on the movie, spoilers rampant. It is leading up the a change in Clint and Natasha's relationship. And a plot. I swear. This is a continuation of my story, Before and After, and my drabble, A Still Small Voice, but you don't have to read them in order to understand this one. I didn't get it edited. If I did, I would probably never stop messing with it. Needed to just post it. All errors are mine. Self-flagellation is expected. Hoping you like.**

**Disclaimer: The things I would do if I did, but I don't.**

**Prologue: Of Ledgers and Windows**

Part 1:

Clint was watching the lab coats scurry around like ants, each alarm increasing their agitation like a stick stuck in the ant hill. It would be amusing if it weren't for the fact that those alarms were attached to something that might end the world. That would suck. He observed the director make a dramatic entrance, his black duster flapping behind like a cape. Fury had a brief conversation with Selvig, who glanced derisively in Clint's direction.

Clint knew that Selvig and the other scientists tolerated him about as much as an inmate tolerates a prison guard, and he had done little to endear himself to them. He didn't blame them. Clint wouldn't like being constantly scrutinized for hints of treachery either. His gaze never wavered as his comm unit hissed and Fury's irritated bark echoed in his ear.

"Agent Barton, report."

A quick descent down his rappelling rope, and he was giving a sit-rep to his one-eyed commander. Fury was chewing his ass out for not getting all up close and personal, but Fury loved to give hell when things were not going as planned. Control issues were standard when it came to spies. When the tesseract began to pulse, Clint was sure things couldn't get any worse. When the spear-wielding "guest" appeared on the platform and began attacking, Clint was sure that they could. When all hell broke loose and he was disarmed with a simple twist of a hand, he was certain that his life was over. And he had a few regrets.

But apparently, this enemy had other plans for him than a quick death from a spear to the heart.

"You have heart." Clint only had a moment of confusion at the words before the world was ripped from beneath him. He felt as if all of his will, his purpose, was shoved deep into a corner, trapped. It was like viewing the world through a chink in the wall of a mental prison. What he could comprehend was that all his faculties had been usurped, refocused and bent to the purpose of HIM. The claustrophobia overwhelmed him, as if he was pinned down, without doors, without a window, smothered by an 'other' flowing through him and leaving him without the breathing room he had always depended on to keep sane. During the struggle against the invading force, Clint caught only snippets of the discussion that was occurring in front of him, but when the gun in his hand raised towards Fury, he used all of his mental strength to redirect from his head._ Heart._ The bullet entered the body armor, sparing the director's life.

After the flight from the base, Loki, as he could now identified his body's master, questioned him for hours, asking about any and all information he could use to "play" with his adversaries. He asked Clint about missions, actions, pasts, weaponry, but never relationships or emotions. Deep inside, within the walls built by the blue glow of Loki's weapon, Clint was thankful that Loki did not place any strategic value on those things, sparing him from betraying his friends and colleagues any further.

Time seemed to fade as his body was played like a marionette, dancing on the strings manipulated by a madman, without sleep or food. He could only catch momentary glimpses the actions he planned and carried out for Loki, but what he saw was disturbing. All of his skill, the tactical planning and thoroughness, was directed at riding his home, his people into the ground. This was torture enough, but then she appeared behind him, and he knew what real torture could truly be.

Internally, he was beating at the walls of his mental prison as his body struck Natasha, agonizing at the possibility of harming her with those hands he was no longer in control of. Of watching her die. Clint, or what was left of the real him, put every ounce of his strength into distracting his movements, altering his form, leaving him open to her. Anything to give her a chance to finish him. He accepted his end as the inevitable conclusion, actually welcomed death rather than life under Loki's control. Nat would know this, would free him.

Suddenly, Clint felt the wall holding him back loosen, crumble. Shaky and weak, the control of his body was retrieve by his now-whole mind. He looked at Natasha, muttered her name, and was swiftly sent into the bliss of unconsciousness by her fist.

When he regained consciousness, his hands were bound, but his mind was clearing. His body chaffed against the restraints as he struggled to shake the lingering effects of the possession. Of course, she was there, soothing him, helping pull him back. Something was wrong though, in everything she said, her eyes clouded and her voice uncertain.

Clint was certain that Loki must have hurt her somehow. Her response, that she was "compromised," sent a rush of protectiveness through him. He wanted to fix it for her. He wanted to take her away and keep her safe. All of the regrets, the ones he had felt at what seemed to be his life's end, they rushed back to him. Every single one was wrapped up in this woman leaning against his side. Clint didn't know how to process it, was grateful that circumstances allowed him to push aside his thoughts in favor of another mission, but it was only a temporary distraction. Everything in him had shifted, everything had changed for him, and he was pretty sure there was no going back.

* * *

Part 2

Natasha was tied to a chair and being threatened with torture, and it was right where she wanted to be. Her target was spilling more in the last ten minutes about his illegal weapons trade than Interpol had learned in months of surveillance and wire taps. All because he saw only what he expected of a woman. Men. They would practically throw information at her. All she had to do was reinforce their opinion that woman were pretty playthings, emotional creatures that were fun to look at but were not able to pose a threat to their masculine dominance.

When the phone call came, she was as confused as her "captors." One did not usually receive a phone call from one's handler mid-mission. Coulson wanted her to come in, but Natasha was not finished. The deception portion of the interrogation was definitely blown, but she still had plenty of information she could convince the General to reveal.

"Natasha, Barton's been compromised." Her handler was straightforward with this information. He knew that was all it would take to get her to move. As she neutralized her targets, a part of her mind was occupied with Clint. Coulson said compromised. Not dead.

When Coulson put off briefing her on Clint's situation, ordering her instead to collect Banner while he picked up Stark, Natasha knew that this was worse than she thought. She had to compartmentalize her anxiety for Clint, which would serve no purpose nor keep him from harm, if she was to head after one of the few people in the world of whom she was afraid.

Natasha hated that Banner rattled her so much, that all of her skills, her ability to manipulate, would be completely meaningless if the good doctor got…emotional. Once she successfully got the "big guy" back to the Helicarrier, with only one breathless moment in between, her worry began creeping back up on her. What worried her most, though, was that her partner was not just captured, but mentally compromised. The thought of losing him to Loki's mind games, the thought of never hearing him call her by those ridiculous nicknames or listening to his playful banter in her ear, that nearly crippled her. Natasha didn't know what to make of this emotional revelation. So she put it away. But she knew that would not keep.

Luckily, the job once again distracted her, keeping her from falling too far into contemplation. Loki's capture, and her interrogation, was child's play. Loki, like most whom she had interrogated, believed that he could manipulate her, which is exactly what she hoped. People revealed their play when they thought they had the upper hand. When she asked about Clint, she recognized that Loki would give her nothing of substance, but the god might reveal how he intended to work on her.

"Is this love, Agent Romanoff?"

Natasha nearly scoffed at the arrogance in Loki's voice. She appeased his malicious curiosity, knowing that his childish understanding of love was meaningless in comparison to bond she had with Clint. Instead, she played with something he would understand. Debt of honor. It was as if a key had turned, unlocking the charming passive exterior and revealing the screaming petulant narcissist beneath. As he listed the less savory aspects of her past, she visibly reacted as he expected to her, cowering, ashamed, frightened, until he let it slip.

She now had a glimpse into his plan, but when she went to neutralize his threat, she was face instead with a room full of egos, a deafening explosion, and a very upset doctor. The ensuing fight for her life, as she found herself knocked to the ground and facing death at the green hands of the Hulk, she felt regret for the first time in her life. Natasha didn't want to die; she needed to see him one last time. Just as she braced herself for the impact, Thor knocked the Hulk all the way into the next room.

The unsteadiness didn't leave with the threat, and Natasha remained motionless, shaking, holding herself together, until she heard Clint's name. He was on the ship. Immediately pulling herself together, she headed to intercept. She refused to contemplate whether she would be able to free him or not.

Once she dropped in behind him, the fight was short and brutal. Natasha took advantage of the handful of openings left in his attacks, incapacitating Clint much faster than it would normally take her. Her only pause came when he called her by one of those nicknames. She felt physical pain landing the final blow that sent him to unconsciousness. Her only focus was to get him secure and get his mind straightened.

When she heard the transmission about Coulson, she couldn't process. Coulson was a fixture in her world, the soft-spoken man who was always there to get them out of trouble, both during missions and at SHIELD. But more importantly, Coulson was like a father to Clint, the man that had pulled him back from the abyss much like Clint had done for her. The bastard Loki had stolen so much from her partner, and Natasha wanted revenge.

Clint regained consciousness quickly, and the guilt followed swiftly behind. As they talked, Natasha felt the desire to punish Loki flow through her, and Clint immediately picked up on it, damn his perception. The regrets, the flutterings of new awareness, in combination with her rage, were once again making themselves known as she leaned on her partner.

"I've been compromised. I've got red in my ledger. I'd like to wipe it out." Natasha spoke of ledgers for the second time that day, but this ledger was a debt owed to Loki. She owed him pain, for trying to break her partner, their bond, for the pain she knew Clint was just beginning to feel. Pain that would lodge in her heart for him.

Things had changed. She didn't know what this meant for her, and she didn't have time to process, but a part of her knew that this was not something she would be able to walk away from. And she wasn't sure if she wanted to.

* * *

The battle was done. The victory was complete. The city looked like shit.

Natasha and Clint stood with the other Avengers, awaiting the departure of Loki and Thor. She could only hope that the tortures the trickster would face on Asgard would be as inventive as those she had in her mind. She even whispered to Clint that they could likely do better.

Once the tesseract transported the two back to their home planet, Clint and Natasha got in their car and drove. Between the chaos of the battle and the business of clean-up, they had agreed that a discussion was needed. Clint pulled up to a small riverside walk and parked, and they walked to a bench looking out on them water.

Both sat in silence, both working up to the discussion they wanted to have. Both sensed something off, just before the darts struck the back of their shoulders. Both turned to defend their partner before the neurotoxin took affect and their eyes closed, hands still reaching for each. This wasn't good.

* * *

**A/N: I could have done better, gone more in depth, but I want to get us to the real story, so I hope you will forgive me. And yes, I cliffie'd. I hope you are at least intrigued. Please review. Reviews motivate me. They make me a better writer. They make me giggle like a school-girl. ;) Shout out to Oddbit, who created an amazing illustration of a scene from my Pre-movie story, Before and After, just because she is awesome like that! See you soon with Chapter 1, if you are interested!**


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: Oh my gosh, I am so sorry for the delay! I have overbooked myself over the last week or so, and my writing time has suffered. I should have known better than to try to move a week before a really big vacation. Between packing up all my belongings and packing my bags, I have been wiped. However, I couldn't leave before I got this chapter out, so I hope you enjoy. Ta-Da! Oh, and all errors are mine. Self-flagellation will ensue.**

**Disclaimer: Nope. I wish.**

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Natasha regained consciousness to a blindingly bright light and the feeling of hands running over her limbs. Immediately, her body tensed and she lashed out, only to stall her potentially deadly attack at the sound of a familiar voice.

"It's me, Nat. It's me." Clint sounded frantic as he continued his inspection of her body. "Are you hurt?"

She sat up slowly, letting her eyes adjust to the desert sun that was causing her head to pound. "No, I'm fine," she responded almost automatically. "You?" She gave him a quick once-over, noticing bruises and scratches consistent with a beating. A vicious one.

"Nothing to write home about. I've had worse during a spar with you. You, however, look like you've been in a fight with Freddy Krueger." His lips curled, attempting to keep a light-hearted tone, but Clint's eyes weren't playing their part, revealing instead significant concern.

Natasha, who had been scanning their surroundings for clues to their whereabouts, finally recognized a significant ache all over her body. She looked down and discovered that she indeed had cuts all over her body. Long, shallow lines, crusted with blood, decorated her arms, legs, chest. Her awareness seemed to increase the throbbing pain, but she willed herself to ignore her body's discomfort.

Clint backed up, hovering over her as she got to her feet, reaching for her before pulling his hands back quickly. "Take it easy, Tash."

"I'll take it easy later. We need to figure out what the hell is going on." She didn't like what she was seeing. Both of them surveyed the sandy slopes that stretched in all directions. Half-collapsed tents with empty crates and discarded military miscellany spoke of a recently abandoned base of some sort, but they both knew they couldn't take that for granted. The pair fanned out, moving silently in and out of the crude dwellings, seamlessly covering each other for any potential danger.

Once they cleared the area, Natasha began searching through the piles for means of communication or location identification. Clint moved to another pile, obviously on the same mental wavelength. After about an hour of searching, with the sun slipping down behind the sandy hills, they located an antiquated radio system half-buried in a dune at the edge of the encampment.

Clint worked quickly to modify the equipment, setting it for a frequency monitored by SHIELD, and sent a quick message sure to capture the attention of the desk jockeys listening in on the wire. Neither of them acknowledged the looming threat, but both knew that they faced a long cold night if their message was not received quickly.

While he periodically repeated the mayday message, Natasha gathered anything that might be used for cover or fuel for an improvised campfire. She channeled the pain coursing through her body into a purpose, keeping herself moving as the temperature began to drop. It took her little time to get a small blaze going beside one of the remaining tents, and she pulled Clint away from his vigil, aware of the potential for hypothermia in his wounded state.

"I'll keep first watch. You need to get some rest," Clint declared, giving her another of those concerned looks. For once, Natasha didn't feel like arguing. She pressed closer to Clint's side, telling herself that it was prudent to share some body heat, before reclining on the gritty slope. Just before she slipped into uneasy sleep, she felt a brush of contact against her fingers. With a small smile, she opened her hand, letting his fingers slip between hers. With a sigh, she surrendered to exhaustion with the sense of safety in spite the perilous circumstances.

Moments, or hours, later, she was ripped from a dreamless sleep to the sound of a helicopter approaching their makeshift haven. The sun was just peeking on the horizon, giving an outline to the shadowed hills around them. Clint's eyes met her and they both ducked down, attempting to ascertain whether the new arrival was friend or foe. Natasha felt exposed as she sat weaponless, waiting for it to come into view, but the soothing touch of Clint's hand kept her grounded. He hadn't let go.

The swirling sand, kicked up by the blades, made visibility minimal, but over the noise of the blades beating the air, they heard their names being called out. Clint and Natasha reluctantly let go of each other to stand and wave at the obviously relieved Steve as he leaned out of the door of the SHIELD helicopter.

The exhausted pair clambered into their ride, accepting the water thrust into their hands by the corpsman as he checked their vitals and fretted over their open wounds. The repetitive drone postponed any discussion with their new teammate, but Steve seemed content now that his "men" were no longer in enemy hands, much to the relief of both agents. Neither were happy that they had no answers to give as to why they were still alive, why they had been left.

The trip back to the helicarrier went swiftly, and soon Natasha found herself being separated from Clint, forced into an exam room by doctor's muttering about blood loss, shock, and bed rest. Needless to say, she didn't listen to a single word, demanding instead to return to her own quarters. It took only a raised eyebrow and a few menacing words in Russian to convince the medical staff to concede to her wishes.

When she stepped out of her room, she saw Clint leaning against the wall, obviously waiting for her. He gave her a smirk. "So, what body parts did you threaten this time?"

"I only promised the removal of thumbs. Must be going soft." She smiled back at him as they fell in step with each other, heading to the residence corridor. They walked in companionable silence for a few moments before Clint spoke up.

"Look, we do need to finish that conversation, but we both need some rest right now." Clint paused as they arrived at her door. "You need to recover." Natasha gave him a look at that proclamation.

"Shit. Don't look at me like that. I'm allowed to worry about you. Please just take it easy, Tash. I will see you in a bit, and we can talk, okay?" He ducked his head and leaned towards her.

Natasha let go of her irritation, allowing her body to sway forward and laying her head on his shoulder briefly. "Okay. Okay," she sighed. She raised her eyes to meet his as she backed into her room, only closing the door when Clint backed away and turned towards his end of the hall.

In the quiet of her empty room, Natasha felt the effects of her ordeal finally overcoming her, and she shuffled to her bed. Without bothering with a clothes change, she collapsed and dragged the sheets over her body. Darkness was beginning to climb over her when she heard a faint buzz, a slight rustle to her left. She bolted up, expecting to see something in the shadowed corners of her room, but nothing seemed out of place. Just as she began to question her sanity, a whispered voice echoed in the shell of her ear. "Natasha…"

The hollow audio was somewhat like the comm equipment she was so familiar with during missions. But she didn't have her earpiece in. Shaking her head, she wondered if perhaps her wounds were more grave than she previously thought, as hallucinations are rarely a sign of good health. She was about to drag herself back to med bay when the voice came again, sending a chill down her spine.

"Natasha, I am so glad we are finally alone. I was growing weary of all that hovering your partner seems to do." The woman's voice, now much louder and more defined, was one Natasha was intimately familiar with, and she was quite sure now that this was not a trick of her brain. No, this was much worse.

"Judging by the change in your heart rate, I believe you recognize my voice. Wonderful. Now I don't have to refresh your memory. I only have to make you suffer like you made me suffer." The malevolent glee was now dripping from every word the woman spoke.

"What do you want, Irina?" Natasha knew that her enemy would only gain pleasure if she demonstrated any fear, so she kept her voice and her body steady.

"Besides your suffering? Well, my darling girl, I want SHIELD to fall. At your hand. I want you to bring down the one thing you believe in most." The anger radiated through what Natasha realized was an implanted auditory comm link.

"What makes you think I dance to your twisted tune? Why should I help you? So you don't kill me? You have no leverage. I would rather die than let you use me like that," Natasha stated calmly. It was true, she accepted that her life was not as important as the continued existence of SHIELD.

"Oh no, you misunderstand. I am not threatening your life. You will do what I want. Because if you don't transmit all of the active mission profiles to my server, kill Director Fury, and down that floating fortress of yours in the next three hours, I will activate the kill switch I implanted in your dear Agent Barton's brain stem."

* * *

**A/N: Yep, I cliffied again. I apparently have a mean streak. Oops. Like I stated above, I am about to leave for a very cool trip to the UK for a couple weeks. This does mean no updates, but I promise to write if you promise to give me feedback! I will still be able to occasionally access emails, so each review will keep me motivated! I also want to get the romance started, so perhaps you could feed me your favorite romantic song lyrics in your reviews? Again, I must say thank you so so much for all the wonderful alerts/reviews/favs! They are beyond my wildest dreams! See you on the other side of my journey! Ciao!**


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: Oh my goodness, I am so very sorry! I did not intend to be so long in updating! My trip to UK was amazing, but it left me with the most ridiculous case of jetlag, and as a primarily nighttime writer, that messed me up royally. Just in case you have forgotten a bit of the previous chapter, I have included a bit to jog the memory. I hope you guys are still with me! Well, I will get on with it! Hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Lordy, I wish. Alas, no.**

* * *

_"Oh no, you misunderstand. I am not threatening your life. You will do what I want. Because if you don't transmit all of the active mission profiles to my server, kill Director Fury, and down that floating fortress of yours in the next three hours, I will activate the kill switch I implanted in your dear Agent Barton's brain stem."_

* * *

Chapter 2

A slight hitch in her breath and a quick clench of her hands, that was the only physiological reaction that betrayed the Widow's control, but the tumult of Natasha's mind was immediate and violent.

"I am going to take your silence as confirmation that we have an understanding. You will destroy SHIELD, destroy the life you have built there, or I will destroy the most important person in your life. Either way, you will face Karma for doing the same to me 10 years ago." The hiss in her ear sent a flood of memories to wash over Natasha, of a young fiery assassin, a lusty Russian mob boss, a bullet to the head, and a sister's vow of vengeance. Irina was a very angry sociopath, and she would never let Clint survive, regardless of whether the terms of service were met. A plan began to form in Natasha's mind, one that was risky at best, suicidal at worst.

Natasha sighed. "I will need server locations. And I will need a measure of insurance."

"Why should I give that to you?" Irina's smug answer revealed much more to Natasha than the woman knew. Over-confident, believing she had the upper hand. Nat hoped that Irina was wrong about that.

"I will not follow through with any of your 'requests' without knowing that Hawkeye is out of play. I will put him in a clean room. I can't have your kill chip removed faster than you could hack the encryption for the room. You can't drop him as soon as I begin the chain of events. We will both play this honest. Once he is out, I will play your game. You will have your puppet." Natasha had to consciously force her body to stay steady, knowing that Irina was looking for any sign of deception in her vitals.

The wait for Irina's answer was excruciating, but thankfully brief.

"Ah, well, I guess I can afford to be generous, my dear. You may isolate Agent Barton. But do so quickly, because if I even begin to sense a double-cross, the firewalls will fall promptly and so will he."

* * *

Natasha paused outside of Clint's quarters, bracing herself. When she knocked, the comm in her ear hissed to life once more.

"If you tell Barton the truth, I will twist the proverbial knife before I kill him. I will be monitoring you both, so don't think that you can try to play me. I will give you 5 minutes in the clean room before I decide to change the game and kill him in front of you." Irina's malevolent laugh echoed in Natasha's ear.

There was a brief rustle behind the door before a disheveled Clint pulled the door open and peered at her with sleep-blurred eyes. "Nat? What's up?" He finish pulling on a shirt and stepped towards her with a questioning look.

Natasha glanced down at her feet before taking a deep breath and making eye contact again. "The talk. The one we need to have. I'm ready to have it. Now." Clint's eyes widened slightly at her urgent tone, then stepped back and gestured for her to come into his room.

"Not here. Follow me." She turned quickly, walking down the corridor with purpose. When she didn't hear following footsteps, she paused with a look over her shoulder. Clint was still standing in the doorway, head tilted, just as he did when he was trying to focus a blurry target in his sights.

"Please," she whispered, putting all of the desperation she had been pushing down from the moment that Irina's threat had been revealed into that one word.

Clint silently closed his door and followed, his eyes still speculative and troubled. Natasha didn't say a word as she led him to the center of the helicarrier, where the clean rooms were located. She was anxious to get him into one, as the rooms were able, at least temporarily, to block incoming electronic communication or signals.

Natasha grabbed Clint's arm and pulled him inside, pulling the door closed behind her, letting go of the breath she had been holding. She didn't have much time.

"Tasha, what's going…" Clint's words were lost when Natasha pushed him to the wall, her lips crashing into his. He froze for a moment, before wrapping her up in his arms and responding with his lips and his tongue and his restless hands. Natasha knew she should pull away, that she should never have indulged in this long-held but well hidden desire, but with the axe hanging over them both, she simply could not walk away without giving in just once.

After a few moments, the urgent kiss trailed off as she fought for some control. Clint leaned his head in, touching their foreheads. "What's going on, Tash?" His hand cupped her face and the gravity of his gaze pulled her eyes up to meet his stormy grey eyes.

"I'm so sorry, there isn't time. I'm so stupid, We are so stupid. We should have let go so long ago, and now there isn't time!" This was the first time in her life that the Black Widow was close to babbling, which struck Clint as the most disturbing part of the erratic behavior he had witnessed since she had knocked on his door.

Natasha knew that she wasn't making any sense, but the time was ticking down, and she had to make her move. The question hung in the air unanswered as she took a moment to burn his face into her memory.

"I'm so sorry." Before Clint could respond to her desperate murmur, he felt a brief prick at the back of his neck and the world immediately tilted off its axis. Natasha caught his weight as his limbs were cut loose of his control and he slid to the floor. Those grey eyes locked on her face, confused and betrayed. She just shook her head, tears in her own eyes, and brushed one last kiss over his still lips.

"I have to go. I wish I could stay. Goodbye." His eyes rolled back into his head as his consciousness was overcome by the tranquillizer. Natasha arranged his contorted body into a more comfortable position, stood silently over his still form for a moment, and took a deep breath. She stepped back out of the room and jammed the locking mechanism on the door. Once again, the comm in her ear came to life.

"Just in time, Agent Romanoff. I was afraid that you were going to test me." Irina purred with spiteful pleasure. "Now your end of the bargain must be met."

"Yes, Irina, now I play your game."

* * *

**A/N: So, what do you think Nat's plan is? Hmmmmm. Let me know in the review how you think she will get out of this! I would love the see some speculation. And reviews, they feed my soul! ;D Also, I have put my twitter name on my profile page, and I will start putting previews, etc. up if there is interest. Can't wait to hear with you think! Ciao for now. **


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

A/N: Hey peeps! Hope you like! Woot. :)

Rating: I did use some more colorful language in this chapter. T rating is in place for a reason.

Disclaimer: If it was mine...oh to dream.

ooooooooo

Previously on **Can't Protect Against Yourself**:

_"What's going on, Tash?" His hand cupped her face and the gravity of his gaze pulled her eyes up to meet his stormy grey eyes._

_"I'm so sorry, there isn't time. I'm so stupid, We are so stupid. We should have let go so long ago, and now there isn't time!" This was the first time in her life that the Black Widow was close to babbling, which struck Clint as the most disturbing part of the erratic behavior he had witnessed since she had knocked on his door._

_Natasha knew that she wasn't making any sense, but the time was ticking down, and she had to make her move. The question hung in the air unanswered as she took a moment to burn his face into her memory._

_"I'm so sorry." Before Clint could respond to her desperate murmur, he felt a brief prick at the back of his neck and the world immediately tilted off its axis. Natasha caught his weight as his limbs were cut loose of his control and he slid to the floor. Those grey eyes locked on her face, confused and betrayed. She just shook her head, tears in her own eyes, and brushed one last kiss over his still lips._

_"I have to go. I wish I could stay. Goodbye." His eyes rolled back into his head as his consciousness was overcome by the tranquillizer. Natasha arranged his contorted body into a more comfortable position, stood silently over his still form for a moment, and took a deep breath. She stepped back out of the room and jammed the locking mechanism on the door. Once again, the comm in her ear came to life._

_"Just in time, Agent Romanoff. I was afraid that you were going to test me." Irina purred with spiteful pleasure. "Now your end of the bargain must be met."_

_"Yes, Irina, now I play your game."_

ooooooooo

The walkway rattled as Natasha made her way through the bowels of the helicarrier. Irina had gone quiet, thankfully. The silence gave Natasha time to get herself back under control and to flesh out her plan. The emotions that had surged through her as she said goodbye to Clint, they had no place in this. They would only make her sloppy. Instead, Natasha was slowly retreating behind the shield of her Widow persona.

Quickly and efficiently, Natasha gathered the equipment needed, stowed it in a go bag, and then turned her attention to putting plan into action. It only took her a few minutes to make her way to the ship's bridge, and if she had been observed closely, one would have seen her face shift eerily from one emotion to another as she searched for the right expression needed to accomplish her desired effect. By the time she approached her commander, Natasha was the picture of earnest concern.

Fury was quietly pacing on his platform, monitoring several missions simultaneously, turning from one monitor to another. Natasha stopped short just behind him and waited for his attention. After a couple minutes, the director turned to face her, eyebrow raised.

"Romanoff, I must be hallucinating there is no way that you are here in front of me and not recuperating in sick bay like I ordered." The sarcasm dripped from his words as usual.

"Sir, I just received a credible tip from a former…associate, and I don't think this can wait. Could we talk privately?" She shifted her eyes a bit in both directions, intimating a worry of being overheard by another.

Immediately, Fury's posture straightened, and he nodded wordlessly, spinning on his heel and strode away from his command post, not even glancing back to see if she followed. From the analyst's post, Agent Hill turned to watch her superior officer exit, but a sharp look from Natasha kept her from shadowing him as was her habit.

Natasha's comm hissed to life again before they made it out of command. "Don't forget, if I hear even a hint of double-cross, Barton will suffer. I want proof of Fury's death. A head will suffice." The glee in Irina's voice was tangible. Natasha steeled her expression, well aware that her enemy was working hard to play with her, trying to shake her control. Irina underestimated Natasha's resolve. Clint would not die because of her.

Fury remained silent as they stalked the passageways to the director's "office." The empty screens, usually dominated by the faces of Council members, loomed over the pair as Fury finally turned to face her. "Now, Agent Romanoff, what has you so damned jumpy?" His one good eye searched her face questioningly.

"Sir, I got a call. Former asset, reliable connections. There has been chatter. Not a lot, but enough to get on her radar. We have a mole. Someone has been accessing mission details, operative names, the works."

"How the hell did that happen!? We haven't had any flags on the system," Furry fumed, and spun to his computer terminal.

"Whatever is going on, we need to handle it delicately. If no flags were raised, it has to be someone in Tech. Have you looked at system traffic lately? They had to have left some tracks." As the director deactivated the computer security at the biometrics scanner, Natasha reached behind her, pulling out another syringe, this one with a mild sedative.

"I am not seeing anything, Romanoff. No unauthorized access." He turned to her with eyebrow arched.

"That is because it hasn't happened yet." Natasha reached around the director's blind side and injected him.

"What the fuck?!" Fury attempted to reach for her, but she quickly restrained his hands until his chin dropped to his chest in unconsciousness. Once he was secured to the chair, Natasha began to work, shifting data and preparing for transmission.

"Is he dead, yet?" Irina had returned, Natasha's own twisted Jiminy Cricket. Ignoring the inquiry, the Widow continued her mission.

"Server location for data drop?" Natasha asked after she was sure her program was in place. Irina fed her the information, and the package was sent. Natasha waited in silence as Irina confirmed receipt. She took the moment to focus her mind, preparing herself for the task ahead. The game was about to get messy.

It wasn't long before Irina returned, and it was clear she was no longer giddy with power.

"YOU BITCH! What are you doing!? I told you to send me all the data! This is useless, locked with a biometric key and a destroy program imbedded! Do you want Barton to writhe in pain before I blow up his brain?! Tell me one reason I shouldn't end him right now!"

The bellow of rage that echoed through the comm made Natasha cringe in discomfort, but did nothing to dim the smirk on her face. "Because I have the key to that information, sitting right beside me."

ooooooooo

A/N: Okie, so we have a better idea of what Nat is planning. Ish. I am sorry this took so long to post! It would have been up on Thursday, except it was my birthday and got a little busy with yummy food eating. And of course, Friday I was all over the Bourne Legacy, twice. SO GOOD! I love Jeremy Renner. *sigh* So, as it is my birthday week, I have a b-day wish. As I have only just begun to delve into Avengers Fanfic, I am hoping that you will drop a quick note in a review and give me the name of your favorite story in addition to any feedback. Will be my present, keeping me in fanfics! Also, if you have read my fic, Still Small Voice, I will be posting another chapter later tonight or early tomorrow! See ya soon!


	5. Chapter 5

I. Am. So. Sorry. I cannot believe I have let this much time slip by between chapters! I have had ¾ of the next chapter written for most of this time, but I have let the crazy of real life get in the way of completing it. Now I didn't post this message just to apologize. I wanted to let you know that I will be updating this story and _Still Small Voice_ by next Sunday.

The other reason I am posting is to get input on a name for my series of stories. I have finally received an invitation to the AO3 fanfiction site, and I am at a loss for what to use for my three stories. So…what do you think? Any good ideas? I can't wait to see what you think! So I will see you in the week! Happy Holidays! :D


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